


Roman Holiday

by been away for ages (junhyunah)



Series: Neurodivergent One Direction [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 4am diner trip, Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Biromantic Louis, Childhood Trauma, Comfort No Hurt, Demisexual Louis, Denny's, Depersonalization Disorder, Depression, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Fluff, For reference, Genderfluid Harry, I lied zayn's pretty important, M/M, Marijuana, Medication, Medicinal Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Multiple Personalities, Neurodiversity, PTSD, Pansexual Harry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Scratching, Self-Medication, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, and depression, and louis has depression ptsd depersonalization disorder and suicidal ideation, as in they go out to eat, as well as depersonalization disroder, eventual depiction of eating, genderfluid!harry, harry has bipolar disorder social anxiety and depression, lots of bonding, mentioned self harm, mentions of scratching, mentions of self harm, no actual thoughts or described thoughts though, no graphic descriptions of food though, teeniest tiniest bit of angst ever, zayn has dissociative identity disorder, zayn makes a rather small appearance i suppose but he's important so i'm tagging him too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junhyunah/pseuds/been%20away%20for%20ages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>familiar faces surround you and you're piling into dennys at 4 am, alcohol hot on your breath and youth in your veins; your head spins and your chest kind of burns, but you feel giggly (and a little guilty) as you look around at the other bodies occupying the dimly lit spaces in between. but you know, you can feel it, you can feel your breath in your lungs and heart in your chest -- and you are alive.</p><p>[queer & neurodivergent harry and louis bond over gender mishaps and feelings of emptiness that comes with bad memories and too many pills.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has graphic description of dissociation and may be triggering to some. The disorders outlined in the tags (Depression, Bipolar, Depersonalization Disorder, Social Anxiety, and PTSD) are discussed thoroughly and some readers may find this triggering a well. There is a single, extremely minor mention of self-harm during a panic attack - it is not explicit but it is mentioned.  
> This also includes underage drinking, and use of marijuana. If that is triggering for you, you may not wish to read this, as use of alcohol is heavily present.  
> 

“Gaps in your memory, loss of feeling in your body, feelings of being unreal... you know, that kind of stuff.”

“H, you can't just say _that kind of stuff_. You're talking about a mental disorder, not your sophomore history course.” Zayn turns toward the door to look at Harry, closing the laptop sitting on his desk. 

Harry sighs, moving from his place leaning against the door frame.  “Why can't this be easy?”

Zayn smiles sadly, opening his arms and welcoming Harry into his lap. “Believe me, I wish it was, mate.” Harry moves easily through the space, Zayn's room more comfortable than Harry's own.

Harry leans his head on top of Zayn's messy hair, settling on top of the other. The older teen had been typing up a draft for an email to Harry's school counselor all morning, on the boys behalf. Harry's missed the last two weeks of school and he knows he can't continue pinning it on his dislike for crowds when it's _so_ much more than needing familiarity.

His last attempt to get to school left him curled up on the curb of the bus center, body racked with sobs and mind frantic. It had taken every ounce of strength to keep from screaming when strangers stopped to help him. He barely managed to unlock his phone and dial Zayn's number, and by the time the older teen had gotten to him, Harry had already scratched his arms deep enough to draw blood in several places. Zayn had had to carry him to his car, as he was unable to stand on his own.

Harry feels a hand running up and down his back, an arm around his waist. His hands are cold, when he looks down he can see them gripping Zayn's gray t-shirt tightly, knuckles white. He doesn't really feel it, though. This is what it's like, to feel unreal. You see yourself, you know it's you but you can't feel it and it's a terrible thing to be left numb to real life. Breath passes through Harry's lips and he realizes Zayn's talking again.

“-feel like drinking tonight?”  
“Sorry, what?” Harry feels his lips curl up guiltily, but he knows Zayn's not upset. Zayn knows him well enough to know his attention is not exactly at his will. He looks down at his hands fumbling with Zayn's shirt again.

“It's alright, just wanted to know if you felt like drinking tonight? Help you take the nerves off of going back to school.” Harry's nerves trill at that.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd be down for that. Please.”

Harry slides off of his lap before Zayn can ask, and he's off to his closet.

“Can I-” Zayn's cutting him off before he can finish, and Harry's chest tightens at the realization that Zayn knows him better than he knows himself.

“All your clothes are in the bottom drawer of my dresser H.”

“All of them?” Harry nervously pokes around, kneeling in front of the dresser. His hands are on the cold metal knobs and he feels himself start to shake. His heart is racing, not in fear but anticipation. There's a weight sitting on his shoulders that says the contents of the drawer will make or break this single attempt at being human, and Harry's never been good at handling pressure.

He can hear Zayn stand up from the desk chair, hears his feet sliding across carpet. He hears him kneel to his left before his hands come into the corner of Harry's view.

Harry's own hands start to move as Zayn pulls the drawer open. Neatly folded clothes are stacked along with a handful of bunched up scarves, a few pairs of shoes, and a plastic bag.

He's both relieved and anxious at the sight of his own skirts amongst jeans, and dresses amongst t-shirts. A warm hand settles on his shoulder, and he figures he must look rather stupid sitting in front of his friends dresser with tears lining his lids. Harry's unsure, of all of this. He's unsure whether he really feels like a _he_ today, whether he really ever feels like a _he_. He's unsure how long Zayn will put up with him and his ever-changing states. He's unsure how he'll feel waking up in the morning, walking into his first class, sitting alone at lunch. He's never sure of himself because he's constantly being pushed and pulled in every direction. He feels like he's on some kind of ride and he wants off of it. He's pushed into silence, pulled into stuttering rambles. He's tossed between oversensitive and numb. 

Add in his personal crisis between boy or girl or nothing at all and Harry really has no idea how he's survived so long.

His attention is brought back to the dresser and he figures,  _might as well get this over with._ Assessing how he feels is difficult enough, but when choosing outfits, anxiety tends to win the war inside of him. This time, he's not facing the world. This time, he's facing Zayn, who's cared for him and stuck with him through his worst breakdowns ever. And one of Zayn's mates couldn't possibly tear Harry apart the way he truly fears they will. 

The first thing he pulls out of the drawer is a pair of black jeans, the tightest he might even own. Harry sighs, before dropping the jeans into his lap and digging. His pulls out a thin, black tank top with a lace design along the front. The shirt is handed to Zayn as an afterthought, and next he's pulling out a black layered skirt. Then there's a sheer black button up that Harry can't put back.

The jeans get stuffed back in and he's reaching for the plastic bag without thinking.

“This'll look cute.” The words almost scare Harry, as if he'd all but forgotten where he was, what he was doing. It's easy for Harry to get lost in his thoughts, and the way his heart is torn between what he wants and what he doesn't makes everything harder for him.

“You with me?”

Harry tries to breathe. His throat is dry, air passes between his lips, but he doesn't think he's feeling it all. His chest expands and constricts as he sighs, but his hands are warming up as he digs through the plastic bag. He knows his worries are useless, unsolicited. He can't help the tightening of his chest, he doesn't want this cloud of controlling nerve swallowing his mind.

Zayn's arm is hot as it wraps around Harry's waist, a solid anchor to hold his mind within his body. He lets Zayn wrap around him and rock him gently, side to side. He quickly became the singular source of support and love for Harry after they became friends. Harry's family is loving, but they don't understand what it feels like to feel unreal.

Zayn's arms slowly slide down from around him, and Harry pulls his hand out of the plastic bag full of hair bands and plastic tubes and colorful powders.

A small bottle of metallic silver, a stick of charcoal gray, and a tube of pale pink come out of the bag in Harry's hand, and he realizes he's no longer shaking. His heart seems to be calm and his breath is evening out. He rubs the makeup in his hands, between his fingers, and he _feels_ it this time. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Let's get you done up then, H.” Harry's hand on his arm stops Zayn from getting up.

There's something that's been on his mind, and his cheeks burn at the thought of speaking his mind out loud. But, really, he has to. This isn't something he can keep playing around with.

“Harmony.”

“Harmony...?” A confused tone matches the quirked brow when Harry turns to Zayn.

“I think it...I mean... Do _you_ think it suits me?”

Zayn's smile is warm and comforting and everything Harry needs right now. “Harmony sounds perfect. Suits you perfectly, little flower child.” Zayn's fingers poke and prod at Harry's cheeks, giggles coming up between the two.

“Thank you. For being here for me. Even though you've got a lot of shit to deal with on your end, I know you're here for me.” Har-  _ Harmony _ could feel her throat tighten, her heart was skipping around in her chest. She felt grounded again. She felt warm, and safe, and  _ real. _

“You'd do anything to help me, and you know I'd do the same for you, Harmony.”

Tears are threatening to fall now, and the lump in her throat is enough to bring warmth to Harmony's cheeks as she laughs.

“I'm such a sap, gosh.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get up and get dressed, I'll find someone to pick up some drinks for us. Want me to fix you up?”

There's a warmth that spreads through Harmony in the moment. It's peaceful, a calm wave that's trying to bring him back to reality. It's moments like these that Harmony appreciates Zayn more than ever. She's sat there on her knees in front of his dresser, a few tears dried on her cheeks, holding makeup Zayn's mother gifted him a few weeks ago. She feels ridiculous but calm, comfortable. She feels like she can belong there, in Zayn's bedroom, if he let her.

She shakes her head, ending her daze and letting her curls brush her cheeks. “Yeah, I can never do my eyeliner well.” She gathers her clothes in her arms, and stands.

“Well, hurry up. I'm going to text another mate, see if he's free to buy for us. I think you'd like him, if you'd want to meet him. If not I can-”

“I trust you. I feel better now anyways.” With a small smile, Harmony turns to the bathroom.

“Okay. We might be able to grab dinner over there with him, too. You alright with that?”

The thought should scare Harmony, as she sees it, but the calm that's settling over her distracts her from the immediate worry. She feels safer focusing on Zayn, safer knowing he trusts this person enough to allow Harmony to blossom like this.

“If I like him, sure.”

Zayn pops his head through the doorway to smile at her. “I really think you will. Now hurry, your hair will take me forever!”

With a laugh, she throws her t-shirt at him before closing the door.

Sighing softly to herself, she strips down fully. Carefully sorting out [her clothes](http://www.polyvore.com/harmony/set?id=177050627), she slips her skirt and top on, before turning to brush her hair out in a small attempt to make Zayn's job easier. Her hands start to shake as she turns on the faucet, rinses her face. She's ignoring it as she goes on. This part is all routine. She can do it all herself. She knows this. 

Zayn's knock on the door is what startles her, and she's drying her face before opening the door.

“Let's get you made up. Louis agreed to buy for us. He's bringing some bud, too.”

She perked up at the mention. Zayn had been the one to introduce Harmony to alcohol and marijuana in her freshman year of high school, when he was a senior. It wasn't something she liked to do all the time, but when she felt airy like this, when she felt lost – it was all could use to get a grip again. She liked to be calm, but not incoherent. Liked to feel free but not uncontrolled. She likes the feeling of bubbles rising in her chest from content much more than the clenching fear that normally resides there.

“Okay. Thanks for this, again.”

Zayn simply smiled, brushing her off and sitting her gently on the toilet seat.

“Look up, don't move unless I say.” With the curling wand plugged in, makeup uncapped, and hairspray ready, Zayn did what he does best. He'd never admit it but this Zayn, Harmony's Zayn, had a talent for making his loved one's happy. Even if it meant watching hours of beauty videos on youtube.

Her hair was almost uncontrollable, but Zayn does his best to put some order into her curls, to twist them just the right way that they fall into place around her cheeks and along her neck. He lines her lids with a smooth steel to match her nails, ignoring the way it hardens the emerald of her eyes in a way that might seem dangerous to those that don't know the vulnerability of her heart.

Her lips, tainted pink, shine against her pale skin and she smiles brightly at herself, letting the bathroom counter dig into her hip as she admires Zayn's work, before turning to pull him in. Zayn's content with his work, beaming at the confidence she so rarely seems to possess.

“Let's go, love. You look great.” With another dimpled smile, Harmony nods.

 

In the car, the struggle of meeting and adjusting to yet another unfamiliar person begins to settle into Harmony's mind. Harmony just wanted to strip down, wash up, and pass out in bed where no one could reach her. Her nails glittered a metallic steel that settled against her heated cheekbones. Her boots clicked together at the heels as she tapped along to the song playing on the radio in Zayn's car, her blood rushing behind her ears.

“Harmony, I can just ask him to pick the stuff up for us, and pick it up from him when he gets back.” Zayn's hand on hers was probably meant to be calming but only spiked her nerves as his rings brushed her over-sensitized skin.

“No, I promise I can do this. Just gotta get over the initial reaction.”

_Deep breaths, Harmony._

“Okay, well... we're going to pick him up and drive to the liquor store a couple blocks from here. Look out for places you want to eat at, we'll pick up something along the way.” With a quick pat, Zayn's hands left hers and she deflated. Her breath is lost and she can barely turn her head to look out the window as they pull out of the driveway. 

Her nerves are high, her hands are numb, she feels like the music in the background is a soundtrack to a movie that's never been made and she can't move.

It's all automatic, it's all controlled by something else, some other part of her. Her body locks up and time passes by. Harmony is always left an observer to her own life, her own body.

It takes less than ten minutes for the car to stop moving. Harmony doesn't notice this until Zayn's hand is on her shoulder once again, brushing her hair over her shoulder, stroking her cheek.

“Harmony. Please tell me to go back . You're not okay.”

Stubborn, she shakes her head. “No, I'm fine. You know as well as I do that I need this.”

Zayn sighs. He does know, he knows her inside and out. He knows how she loosens up when her blood starts pumping. He knows how her mind stops wandering, knows her hands stop shaking, when she lets go. It's not easy feeling so lost all the time. Zayn often thinks his alters are too much to deal with, but the idea of being up in the air constantly, being thrown around from one extreme to the other... it's more than he could handle himself. Seeing Harmony deal with it breaks his heart sometimes.

“Okay. I let Louis know you have anxiety, earlier. He's really a great guy, and he completely understands if this is too much for you, at any time.” Zayn's trying to calm her, let her know this isn't some normal guy; he wants her to catch that Louis will understand if she needs time to find herself before finding him.

“O-oh?”

“Yeah, he's neurodivergent, too. I don't wanna like, give personal details or anything, but I just want you to know he'll like, _get it_ if you need a moment.” Harmony has never felt such an odd sense of relief in relation to a complete stranger. She knows it's ridiculous to be so nervous anyways, but the idea of this stranger, this unfamiliar entity, struggling with their own mind is oddly and almost disturbingly calming.

“Okay. Okay, I can do this. Thank you.” Harmony's breathing deeply, clasping and unclasping her hands, fumbling with her skirt's lining.

“We're going to get out now, okay? His apartment is the last on the left. We're going to walk down the hall and he'll meet us at the doorway. We don't have to go in right away, Harmony.”

Zayn knew her worries about walking into such entirely unfamiliar territory, and didn't want to push her too far. He knows she'll love Louis, once she can get her head on straight.

“Okay. C-Can we walk slowly?” Her hands find his for just a moment, before she's pulling away to unbuckle her seat belt and open the car door.

“Of course. Hold my hand?” Zayn asks as if it's for his own comfort, as if he's the one who needs an anchor.

Harmony smiles and sighs in relief, walking to his side after they get out and lock up the car.

Hand in hand, the two slowly, carefully step onto the pavement, and past a set of stairs. Harmony keeps her eyes locked on her boots as she walks so this stranger doesn't see her marginal shame, doesn't notice how weak she really is.

She counts the doors they walk past when they enter the hallway. Four. The fifth door is the last, and it's cracked open, a pair of scuffed vans sitting on small feet, one lifting to smash a cigarette against the concrete.

“Hey, mate. Good to see you again!” Zayn looks back at Harmony's brightened cheeks and slips his hand away from her noticeably less clammy own.

“Yeah, missed you, Lou. This is Harmony.” Zayn smiles and taps her chin gently with his forefinger, brushing her cheek.

She lifts her head, refraining from biting her lip to spare her pale gloss.

“Hi.” She mentally berates herself for not being more personable, but Louis looks her in the eyes and she's suddenly a lot more concerned with her inability to breathe.

“Hi, Harmony. 'm Louis.” Zayn smiles, a knowing look crossing his dark features as he watches a blush creep up his friends face. Louis' eyes are wide as he takes in Harmony's long legs, shaking hands, and dimpled cheeks as she smiles at him.

She bravely meets his eyes and she regrets it the moment they meet. His icy blue meets her warm emerald and she's done for. Truly done for.

Harmony crushes deeply on many people, often at the same time. She's not new to being awestruck at another's beauty. She figures that's all this is.

“You look lovely. Zayn, you didn't tell me you were invitin' a little angel along, mate.” The two boys share a laugh as Louis opens his door.

“Harmony, would you like to come in...?” Louis' stepping up and asking if she's ready to go any further before Zayn has the chance.

She's looking between Louis and Zayn, unsure and unsteady. Bright light is pouring from where Louis' door is cracked open, and through the window Harmony can see rainbow lights strung around the edge of the glass inside.

She doesn't quite trust her voice, and her blood is still burning through her veins at Louis' comment, _surely he's just playing with me_ , she thinks. But she nods nonetheless, and moves closer to Zayn as the door opens further.

Louis smiles at her, walking into his apartment.

“I'm just going to grab my wallet. I wanted to let you guys in for a moment so you could see the place.” Louis wouldn't look her in the eye but Harmony knew Zayn had told him about a lot more than just her anxiety. “Zayn, I don't think you've been back since I unpacked, have you?” With that, he disappears into what seems to be his bedroom, reappearing a moment later with wallet and jacket in hand.

“No, but I like it. Suits you.” The boys are laughing again and Harmony doesn't really understand why but she's distracted by the soft colors and warmth of the place. An old bookshelf holds rows of books and a clothes line riddles with old photographs pinned up, to the left of the window. She can't help but smile when she sees most of them are with Zayn, dorky faces that look too young for the bottles they're holding up.

Harmony takes a moment for deep breaths and readies herself. In a moment of bravado she knows to be completely false, she looks over to Louis, letting herself take in more than just his feet and eyes.

His hair looks soft, his skin glows warmly under the colorful lights, and she can't keep from looking in his eyes again. Under the lights they carry an almost silver shine, and Harmony is feeling less shaken, less frightened by this place each second.

Louis and Zayn wander back towards Harmony, who hasn't really moved but a few inches from the door.

“Let's go, yeah? What were you guys lookin' to drink tonight?” Louis' voice scratches against her ears as Harmony watches his small hands lock up the door from the other side.

“Harmony's big on fruity vodka, so... literally anything that fits the description and is within our budget is good.” Zayn's arm is comforting around Harmony's shoulders and she's eased into the conversation seamlessly, without her saying a word. She'll never be able to voice how grateful she is to have someone as intuitive as Zayn by her side.

“Don't worry about budget, I still owe you, remember?” Louis eyes catch Harmony's each time she looks up, so she resigns to watching her skirt flutter around her legs as they move back to Zayn's car.

“Oh shut it, you paid me back-” Zayn's laugh is caught in his throat when Louis interjects.

“Just let me cover the drinks, and you can cover a little bud. Fair deal?”

Louis' eyes shift around Harmony, and she can feel them flit up her legs, down her arms, along her cheekbones.

Zayn seems to surrender at his last comment, a silent nod as he rubbed Harmony's shoulder gently. Her hands were clasped gently in front of her, lips pursed lightly. Her boots hit the ground slowly with a soft sound, distinct from the scuffs of Louis and Zayn's shoes against pavement.

The car was in sight sooner than she was comfortable with, thoughts clouding her sweetened vision. Steel blue was shattered by worries as Zayn unlocked the car. Louis turned to her then, opening the passenger side door and motioning for her to get in.

“O-oh, no, it's okay. I can sit-”

“You look way too nice to be climbing in and out of the back, love.” Louis smile was charming but his eyes didn't light the way his cheeks did.

“Are you sure?” Harmony is unsure in everything she is but Louis is something else entirely. He is so sure – not _sure_ in that he knows, but sure in that he knows the worst, and this is not the worst.

“Of course. 'M pretty compact myself, anyway.” She realizes Zayn has already climbed in the drivers seat and is laughing under his breath, so she hurriedly climbs in, tucking her skirt beneath her legs. Louis shuts the door, with a quiet _watch your hands love_ on the way.

The car is moving again and this time Harmony doesn't even try to keep up, doesn't pretend she's coherent enough to remember _how_ to keep track of time.

Street lights are on and the lights of the city sooth Harmony. Her eyes are functioning well enough, she can watch strangers cross the street, can see the teenagers pouring out of bars and laughing and crying and -

She's breathing. She's _alive_ and her heart is beating and she's breathing and she's _thinking._

This is a little too much for her to handle.

“Harmony?” She doesn't realize she's crying until she hears Zayn's voice.

“Sorry. Sorry, I don't know what I'm doing anymore, I'm sorry.”

Apologies are all she's got left in her and she's really doesn't have a clue what's going on but she's happy.

The tears wetting her cheeks are falling memories and she's okay, really, she just can't get a grip on her body to say _stop_.

The car stops moving, they're on the side of the road, Zayn's leaning across to brush her cheeks, pet her hair, wrap around her but, that isn't what she wants.

“Look, I just want to get wasted. Please. I just need to forget, okay?”

Her voice barely sounds more than a whisper but Louis is leaning forward to Zayn, and then the car is in motion again, driving much quicker than before, as if there's a new urgency.

She doesn't bother moving when they pull up to a twenty four hour liquor store, doesn't respond when Zayn tell her they'll be right back. She waits until their silhouettes disappear behind a barred door before she climbs out. The night air is chilly, but the sky is clear, and she leans against the side of the car and looks up. Tears still fall from her eyes but her makeup is waterproof and Zayn can fix it later anyway, she can't bring herself to care.

She looks to the store to see Louis eyeing her through the window.

She tries to smile. She's not so sure it works, it's probably more a grimace than anything but it seems like he gets it, he smiles back at her.

He turns for a moment, leans back with a red bottle and a blue one, a questioning look on his face, _which one?_

Harmony realizes, after a moment, that Louis was asking her to choose. She pointed left, _the blue one_.

He smiled, put the red bottle down, and walked out of her line of sight. A moment later he's walking out, Zayn still inside.

“Wanted to make sure you're...okay by yourself.” Louis' shrugging off his denim jacket and placing it over Harmony's shoulders before she can tell him no, tell him it'll ruin her look, tell him denim doesn't go with black lace, stop.

But she doesn't speak. She just leans back against the car, body facing Louis.

“I'm sorry.” Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper again, but she tries to get what she wants out. “I don't know why I'm crying. It just happens.”  
And he's smiling. His eyes are watering but his lips curl and his hands are very slowly moving up, up, up. His fingers carefully brush her cheeks, gently rim her bottom lids to fix her makeup. His palms wipe the tracks of her tears away and he's back in his own space.

“Thanks. I must look a mess now,” she laughs, empty and breathless.

“No. You still look amazing, love. No worries.”

“Do you flirt with everyone, or...?” It's out before she can stop it.

She can't believe the words that came out her mouth, but they're _out_. They've been said, and he's laughing.

“No, not really. I don't know where this is even coming from, to be honest.” Louis' nervous. His hands are a little shaky as he rubs them together, avoiding Harmony's eyes.

“He's rather shy, I'm shocked he's even spoken to you at all, Harmony.” Zayn's presence had gone completely unnoticed by Louis and Harmony, the paper bags he held under his arm holding three large bottles, clinking as he walked.

Louis cheeks light up at that, even in the dark he glows a bit. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck and Harmony is at a complete and total loss. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has graphic description of dissociation and may be triggering to some. The disorders outlined in the tags (Depression, Bipolar, Depersonalization Disorder, Social Anxiety, and PTSD) are discussed thoroughly and some readers may find this triggering as well.  
> This also includes underage drinking, and use of marijuana. If that is triggering for you, you may not wish to read this, as use of alcohol is heavily present.  
> This chapter includes graphic description of drinking, smoking (cigarettes only), and brief mentions of self harm.

Back in the car, Harmony is having a lot of trouble breathing all of a sudden. Her hands are clammy and the backs of her eyelids seem to glow a sleek blue when she can't handle the street lights burning as they pass.

“Are you alright, H?” Zayn's voice is quiet, a calming presence treading along the anxious thoughts swirling between her pierced ears.

“I'll be okay.” Harmony's voice was shaking, barely above a whisper. Really, she would be. She knows she'll be _just fine_ when she starts drinking – she always is.

“I asked if you are okay, not if you will be.” Zayn's voice was unusually stern, and the car slowed to a stop on the side of the road.

“We're a few minutes away from Louis' apartment. Would you go back, or do you want to go home?” Zayn's hand is brushing her curls away from her face, pulling her head back from where it had fallen forward in her attempt to drown out the lights surrounding her.

“I don't mind. Just need to calm down. Really.” Her voice isn't convincing in the slightest, but Zayn sighs anyway.

She can't feel her mouth move when she hears her voice again, but she's speaking words she isn't thinking. “Could we go back to ours?”

“Ours? Yeah, okay. Is Louis okay? I mean-” Zayn's starting the car and Harmony opens her eyes so she can stop seeing that damn _blue._

“Yes, yeah. Yes.” Her cheeks warm as she glances in the rear view mirror to see Louis, cheeks tinted in the dark and hands messing about with his odd collection of bands and ties around his wrists.

“Our place it is.”

The drive is quiet again, the road smooth and streetlights a little less blinding to Harmony.

She keeps her eyes trained on the window this time, but focuses on moving her throat and chest in time to her breaths, trying to slow them down.

Her fingers are cold and the tips are going numb, and all she can think is, _not now, I want to remember this._

She abandons hope of easy breathing and takes a deep breath through the nose, and heaves a sigh through her lips.

She shakes her head a little, trying to focus her eyes on something – anything – with no such luck. Her eyes shift, she feels a bit like she's spacing out, but too present at the same time.

Her mind is going haywire with doubt, _what if I look bad, what if Louis thinks I'm weird, what if I do something stupid when I'm drunk, what if, what if-_

The car stops, Harmony's eyes shift and familiar brick is in front of her. The house is calming and familiar, Harmony's eyes recognize the windows, the graffiti on the driveway. It's her own home, but it takes climbing from the car, digging the key out from the underside of Zayn's ashtray out of habit and impatience, before she can let her breath go.

Zayn's hands land on her shoulders, and then he's hugging her from behind as her hands still, key lodged in the door knob. She wants to turn and question him, but some small part of her mind wonders if this isn't just her mind playing tricks on her.

“You're okay. You're here, you're real, Harmony. We're real.” The door's opening in front of her and hands slide to her waist to push her inside.

“Harmony.” Louis' voice feels like knives grated against her ears, shock pressing her spine momentarily. She whips around, her hair falling across her shoulders.

Louis doesn't speak again, just moves towards her, brushing her hair back. Zayn's not making a sound, probably as he's moved into the kitchen, leaving the two in the hallway.

She's looking him in the eyes, but the eyes he's seeing aren't _hers._ She's never been so frustrated by her inability to put words to her feelings before in her entire life; she wants to scream but her throat only tenses.

His hands are cold but his skin glows with an inconceivable warmth, and he radiates care and caution. Harmony feels like she's being pulled out of water, and the feeling is gradual, unalarming, anticlimactic. She's just regaining consciousness of the body that is supposed to be hers but feels foreign.

Then she looks into the cold blue of Louis' eyes and he's there, he's watching her with wide eyes, like she's something precious, something special. Her cheeks are wet and she's confused.

“Z-Zayn?” Harmony is lost and confused and she's crying as Louis touches her like she is fragile.

“Don't cry. Please.” Louis' voice is all she hears, Zayn doesn't respond and she should worry, really. But the room is coming into her vision.

Startlingly unaware – unaware, unseeing, she's empty. She has these moments, these periods of time in which she feels so completely disconnected from everything around her that she literally disconnects. She becomes less and less aware of her surroundings, of her own body, and she's all thought. Her dissociation is horrific, is leaves her with gaps of time lost to nothing, leaves her empty and empty-handed.

Leaves her wondering if she really exists.

But here she is, tears trailing her cheeks, blue eyes staring into her own, a man's hands holding her own. Louis' lips are moving and his voice is a quiet whisper she can't quite catch.

“Wh-what?”

“Don't cry. Zayn asked me to help you calm down, told me this would help.” _Of course he did._

Her hands can feel his, she's trying to pull herself up by his fingertips. She's trying so hard she feels as though her mind itself is trying to drag her body back up to fill her bones again.

“I can't... I need – touch. I need to touch...” Her voice is scratching up her throat and she's aware that it must be undecipherable to Louis, but he's moving. He wraps one arm around her waist, firm but not gripping, and pulls her into his side.

“Tell me where to go. Take me to your room. You know the way. Come on, love.” She's blinded for a moment, an unexpected request. She doesn't understand it, for a moment, but – _oh._

Louis' trying to tell her to focus. He's forcing her to look around her and direct them. To move with him and guide him.

“Go through the kitchen to the living room.” Louis' arm tightens around her, his hand curls over her hip and this is terribly intimate for Harmony's comfort but he's warm now, he's soft and solid and real. Her feet naturally move in time with his and her reflexes take over as they walk slowly.

To anyone outside of the trio, it would look so simple. Simple, easy, normal. An eye laid on Louis and Harmony would see the intimate hold and slow steps, but none of the struggle. They couldn't see inside Harmony's head as she watched feet that were _hers but not_ _ **hers**_ walk along with Louis'.

Her face is rapidly heating up as she walks, becoming more aware of herself and just how much of Louis she can feel in her moment of vulnerability.

“H? Louis' gunna take you to the extra room so you can change, okay?” Zayn waits until he gets a nod from Harmony before continuing. “Come back here after you wash up. Love you.” Harmony is thankful for everything Zayn does for her. He knows what brings her back, knows when she needs space. She owes him her life, really.

Louis moves at her side, and she focuses again on walking. She's quiet as she moves, not giving direction to him, but still guiding Louis along with her. They pass through the living room, and approach a door, plain and clean but for the paint splattered and smeared around and on the door knob.

Louis moves to open it first, and Harmony sighs. Her hand comes up to run through her hair. She tries shaking out her limbs a little, wringing her hands and bending her knees a bit. She's mostly aware of herself now, and the light floods the bedroom and senses as she turns it on and steps into the room.

“Are you okay?” Harmony knows what Louis really wants to ask is more like, _are you okay on your own?_

“Yes. Maybe. We'll see.” She's stopped crying but her throat is still raw over a hard lump that doesn't seem to want to go down.

She sighs, closing the door as Louis retreats to the kitchen.

The bedroom was clean, dresser stocked with more of Zayn and Harmony's clothes, bed covered in comic book sheets. There was a small bathroom that Harmony slid into, her eyes trained on her image in the mirror.

It's terrifying to realize you don't know your own reflection. The part about Harmony's illnesses she hated, more than anything else, was this; looking into a mirror and having to _tell_ herself that she's looking at herself, not an image, because she's forgotten what she looks like.

Right now there's silver streaked in watery lines across her eyelids and cheeks, and the curls Zayn had previously tried to tame had fallen into their natural mess.

She sighs, taking her time washing her face. The water was cold on her skin, but she reveled in the warmth as she cleaned her hands in warmer water afterwords.

Looking at herself again, no makeup, hair pulled up in a small bun, she stops.

_Is this right?_

Turning away, she strips her clothes off, heading for the dresser on the other side of the bedroom.

She's blindly digging, a pair of black jeans and a loose sleeveless shirt in her lap, a pair of boxers on the floor to her side. Shaking her head she dresses again in the clean clothes before she can over-think it.

She pulls up the boxers, an audible sigh of relief at the comfort that enveloped her as she slid on the jeans over them. The shirt was pulled on, careful of her hair tied up, and her old clothes were folded and set on the floor in front of the dresser.

 _Her._ It didn't make Harmony uncomfortable, per se, but in the moment it seemed wrong, in the same way the clothes had felt wrong in the mirror.

 

Approaching the kitchen, there was a noticeable change in Zayn's expression as he looked Harry over, handing him a shot glass.

“You feeling better, H?”

Harry didn't have to answer, but he breathed out a soft, “Tons. Thanks.”

He didn't want to look at Louis. Harry didn't actually know what Zayn had told him, didn't know how much Louis knew about him. For all he knew, Louis could think he was just trans. Maybe he wouldn't think Harry was pretty anymore.

“You like the Packers?” And – _what?_

Harry nodded, looking down at his shirt, the faded team logo printed on the soft gray material. Louis smiled, soft and slow. Nothing more, nothing less. Harry wasn't sure what he was really waiting for, but it surely wasn't a reaction as good as this. Louis either knew that Harry was genderfluid to begin with, or Zayn clued him in while Harry was changing.

“'m more of a footie fan myself, I have to say.” Louis' hands fiddled with his own shot glass, glancing at Zayn for a moment, before returning his attention to Harry.

“Please do not start with your sports shit. I'd kick you out, Lou. And I'd ground _you_ , H.” Zayn's voice was thick with attitude but his smile was soft when he turned, blue bottle in hand.

Louis laugh was quiet, but no less genuine. Harry's eyes caught on his hands though, as he lifted his small glass to Zayn. His bracelets were gone.

Harry didn't like what he saw, but those scars were none of his business.

Zayn cracked open the bottle of raspberry vodka, collecting Harry's glass, and poured each of them a shot.

“Well. Here's to getting over a Sunday night's miseries, I guess.” Louis' lips were quirked as he spoke, but his eyes were rimmed with red s he spoke, and Harry wondered if he had something eating at his thoughts like Zayn and Harry himself.

They lifted their arms in unison, Harry's free hand automatically reaching for a class of what looked to be soda to his left, before letting the shot slip down his throat, cringing. He took a quick swig of the soda and a warm shudder ran down his spine when he swallowed.

Zayn laughed, filling the glasses again, lifting his as he spoke.

“This one is to Harry getting back in school, for fuck's sake.”

Harry's cheeks were warm as he smiled, Louis' hand clapping his shoulder.

His tongue was protesting the sour taste, but his throat let the drink slip a little easier the second time down.

 

The three had relocated shortly after the fifth round, and they sat on the floor in front of the couch. They brought the other bottles and a pack of beer that'd been in the fridge. The coffee table in front of them was lined with napkins, and they had music playing from Zayn's ipod in the background.

Harry didn't need much in him to get drunk, but he kept it all in better than most. Zayn had a stomach of steel on the worst of days, and Louis seemed to be doing just fine, humming along to the Fray while he poured the next round.

“Harry... do you mind if I ask you something? Like, tell me if it's too personal, though.” Louis' voice was soft, his smile sweet as he turned to Harry, passing the glasses back.

They tipped the drinks back before Harry thought about the question. Zayn was on his left, smiling down at his phone, typing away. _Probably Liam_. Louis threw his arm over the cushion behind Harry's shoulders, while Harry leaned forward to pour himself another shot. His hands shook and he had to hold the glass steady, but he didn't spill, so he couldn't be _drunk_ yet, surely.

“I guess... what is it?” Harry's stomach twitched at the idea of Louis, soft and kind and quiet as he's been, finding fault with who Harry is.

“What... or, well, how would you like me to address you? Like, pronouns, names? I'd like you to be comfortable, yeah?”

This is not what Harry expected, but much better.

“Right now, Harry and he. Sometimes it's Harmony and she. And sometimes it's just H...and they?” Harry sucks a deep breath in and he turns to check on Zayn, who'd gone quiet as Louis asked his question. Zayn simply smiled though, leaning in to kiss Harry's head. “'m genderfluid. So. Yeah.” Louis nodded like he got it, like he understands, and Harry wants to ask him, _do you really get it?_

“Alright, I didn't want to assume, but I had thought so. If I ever make a mistake, correct me though, love.”

And that's it. Louis' perfect. His smile spreads slowly, his eyes light up from the glow of the fairy lights that hang above them, and he still actually gives a shit if he accidentally misgenders Harry.

Two rounds of shots later and Harry's standing, with approximately eight to ten shots in his nearly empty stomach, his legs shake a little and he has to rest his palm on Zayn's head for a moment before he can climb over him.

He's taking small steps to look more stable, but he's not sure it's working. He can still see clearly, once he lets his eyes focus, so he's not worried about how inebriated he really is.

He's reaching for the ipod plugged into the speakers, choosing to play Zayn's 'smoking' playlist.

“This reminds me,” Zayn's head pops up and his smile grows wider as he turns to Louis. Harry stands by the speakers, confused, and waits. “Lou, you have any smokes by chance?”

“Oh. Yeah...” Louis' eyes turned curiously to Harry, before Zayn patted the spot Harry'd previously occupied on the floor.

Louis stood, careful but eager, and slid across the wood floor to grab a bag Harry didn't remember him having. He dug through it for a moment, pack of cigarettes surfacing in his hand as he pulled back and returned to his spot.

“You have a lighter?” Zayn snorted at the question; his ever-growing collection was slowly taking over the house. He pulled one from the clutter of the coffee table, tossed it to Louis, and poured more shots, finishing the raspberry vodka.

“Ease up on the drinks, Zayn, we've got all night.” Harry didn't know the time; he didn't want to. He liked the effortlessness and the ease that came with this. He liked feeling content in the moment, however arbitrary it may feel at times. Harry took the shot Zayn poured for him, and leaned back against the couch. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness behind his lids give him the false elation he craved, let his head spin. Louis' fingers traced down his arm all of a sudden, and a look of concern was etched on his features when Harry peeked up at him.

His blue eyes truly did sparkle under the fairy lights, and he was absentmindedly flicking the lighter, the flame warming the glow on his cheeks, making him look absolutely fairy-like himself.

“You're very pretty, Louis.” Harry wasn't drunk – okay, he certainly was, but he formed those words of his own accord. He is aware of his surroundings, thoughts, and body and he feels in sync with himself for once. He doesn't regret saying them out loud.

Especially not when Louis giggles in response. _Giggles_.

“You're drunk.” Harry rolls his eyes and sits upright again, reaching for the lighter in Louis' hand.

“Yes, but. You are. Pretty, I mean. You're drunk, too, though.” Louis eyes Harry's hands as they reach toward him, palms up and open.

“Cigarette please?” Shock touches the other boys' features for a single moment, before Louis' sliding a smoke into one of Harry's hands.

He lights it without hesitance, as if it's a practiced motion. For Zayn and Louis, sure, it is. But Harry tends to stray from strong smelling smokes, outside of incense. They tend to overload his senses a bit more than he can handle.

Zayn's phone rings on Harry's inhale, breaking the anticipatory gazes Harry held onto.

“Gotta take this, sorry. Louis, crack the cherry?” Zayn's up and in the kitchen in a moment, a little too rushed for how much he's had to drink.

Harry turns his body to face Louis, then. The older boy is pulling a bottle of vibrant red vodka onto the table. Really, they should be sick. It's obvious the way Zayn's slurring, he's quite drunk himself. To Harry, though, the best part about this is the part where he completely loses control of himself. He _likes_ stumbling down the hall every twenty minutes when he has to take a piss, he likes laughing too hard all the time, he likes getting to say whats on his mind and getting to say “I was drunk” if someone thinks it's stupid.

Harry takes another drag, and watches Louis open the red bottle, pouring some of the already dizzying liquid into the three glasses on the table. Harry watches as his scars twist in the light, and proceeds to do the stupidest thing he possibly could.

“What are those scars from?” Louis impresses Harry with the way he barely flinches at the invasive question.

“Self harm.” Well, _yes,_ Harry can tell that much.

“No, I know that. I meant, like. What are they _from?_ What did that to you?” He didn't even think the question made sense to himself, he's got no idea if Louis will understand it. His words are admittedly more slurred and his visions a little sloppy. But the dizziness is welcome when it makes him feel so light, so Harry presses on.

“What? I don't know. Mostly just a thing I do to cope with my bad days.” Louis looks more confused than upset. His answers are simple and easy, but something about how empty his eyes are say that it's all rehearsed.

“'Bad days'?” Harry picks up the bottle, pressing the mouth of it to his own lips and sipping from it, feeling the heavy glass chill his palms.

“Depressive days. I have bipolar, my bad days are the days I want to die the most.” Oh.

 _Oh._ Louis seems so easy. He's got everything Harry can think of; he's friendly, funny, charming. Cute. This is nothing when you add in his _eyes_.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Louis reaches for the bottle from Harry's hand, placing it on the table.

Harry nods, a smile stretching across his lips, and a laugh is bubbling up before he can stop it.

Louis just smiles, eyes crinkling at the sides, as takes a drink from the bottle himself. Zayn's voice can be herd softly from the kitchen, but Harry isn't focused on that. He's not focused at all really, just warm, and dizzy, and content.

He lets himself lean onto Louis' shoulder, gently and without getting in the way. His head feels heavy in a strange but comforting way, and he lets the room spin around him again.

 


End file.
